


Truckstops and Tanlines

by behindskylines (deanlovessammymorethanpie)



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Warped Tour 2005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanlovessammymorethanpie/pseuds/behindskylines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is usually pale, but when he starts to tan darker, Frank gets obsessed with his tanlines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truckstops and Tanlines

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on July 7, 2009 on livejournal under the name behindskylines.

Frank first notices them a few days into the tour. It's still the first taste of summer, and sticky-hot already as their traveling caravan of chaos meanders south. Texas is humid, and Frank is sure that the heat is to blame for the way that his eyes feel glued to Gerard's skin as he moves across the stage.

*

It doesn't get any better, as the days fly by in a haze of 'hot, goddamn, it's hot', like the waves of heat glimmering above stinging asphalt, and Gerard has on the same smelly short-sleeved shirt for five days in a row. Frank feels as though he should be disgusted, turned off by the sight of pale skin giving way to dark flesh from under the sweat-stiff sleeves, but he's not. 

Gerard turns to him and Frank stumbles with his vision, trying to flick his eyes to somewhere (anywhere) else on Gerard's body, tries to make it up to Gerard's eyes, and gets stuck on the brand of pink across Gerard's nose, the smattering of freckles breaking along his cheekbones, and actually feels his knees go weak.

"Where's Mikey?" Gerard asks, and Frank has to clear his throat before answering.

"With Pete. Fall Out Boy's bus." His response makes him feel slightly retarded, but he can't help the way that his mind is swimming because Gerard, thinking nothing of it, has pulled the sweaty collar of his shirt away from his neck, and is scratching along the tip of his collarbone. Frank struggles to keep his eyes away from the browning skin of Gerard's throat, away from the smooth, bronze line that sharply turns into pale shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” Gerard’s throat and lower jaw move with the words, and finally, Frank pulls his eyes away from Gerard’s skin, manages to look into Gerard’s questioning eyes, and nods. “Fine,” he croaks, clears his throat, runs away.

*

It’s July 7th, the last show in California, and Frank is foolishly wishing that the sun would just die. He’s smoking a cigarette outside of the bus, waiting for Ray Toro to get back so that they can go over some guitar parts, and trying to not watch as Gerard paints. The tall canvas is propped up on an old cardboard box, and leaning against the trunk of a tree, and there is a blue smudge right along the edge of Gerard’s sleeve, from an itch earlier. A different shirt this time, so the blue edges from pale to golden skin, and Frank craves for the courage to run his tongue along the path. 

They make it to Oregon before Gerard finds out what Mikey really had been doing all those nights away, and Frank watches as the dark skin blooms darker, with an undertone of red, of rage. 

He bites his lip to the point of blood later that night, alone in his bunk, desperately attempting to quiet himself as images of amber skin tracing the colors on his own flesh race through his mind. 

*

One day, in Canada, Gerard dons a ragged jacket, and Frank feels crushed, moody and slightly bitchy the whole day. It’s only then that he realizes that maybe he has a problem.

*

It gets warmer again in Nebraska, and Frank nearly jumps out of bed when he sees the sun weakly streaming in through the curtain of his bunk. He bounds into the dining area, and is pleased to see that Gerard is jacketless, lounging on the sofa in one of his most thread-bare and stretched shirts. The lines along Gerard’s forearm and neck, once relatively clear and defined, have blurred to the point where Gerard’s skin is graduated, pale to dark gold, and only someone who has spent the last weeks watching the lines form could tell where they had been. 

*

August 3rd. They are in Atlanta, Georgia, and Gerard is practically throwing himself around the stage. He ricochets off of Mikey, into Ray, landing next to Frank, before taking a fistful of Frank’s sweat-soaked shirt, and pulling him closer, snarling and shouting lyrics into the flushed skin of his cheek. Frank stares at the tan skin pulsing with life, so close to his own, and misses a chord. The strings jangle uselessly against his hand until Gerard lets go.

*

Ray calmly sits himself down next to Frank against the bus, and puts a large hand on top of Frank’s knee, just to stop the nervous up-and-down motion of his heel. Frank can feel the extra energy racing through his skin, and he has to make himself turn away from where Gerard is sitting, hunched over his sketchbook as the weak morning light washes over him. 

“Are you alright?” Ray asks, after Gerard gets up, goes back to the bus for more coffee. 

“Yeah,” Frank manages. Before the sound has even died, Frank knows that Ray knows he is lying. 

Ray doesn’t call him out on it, and Frank relishes in his small victory as Gerard stumbles on the last step of the bus, and nearly kills Frank’s heart by being so ridiculously adorable.

*

Frank is drunk. It’s Florida, and Frank is drunk, and he knows that he shouldn’t be going back to the bus right now, but he can’t help it. He shouldn’t be going back to their bus drunk, because Gerard doesn’t drink anymore, and now, he’s totally going to hate Frank because Frank is drunk. But, even though Frank is drunk, he has to see Gerard.

He finds Gerard outside, lying out on his back in a patch of grass a few yards away from the buses, and Frank staggers toward him. He is drunk.

“Frank?” Gerard asks, his voice a quiet murmur against the thoughts clamoring inside Frank’s head. He nearly falls when he reaches Gerard, Gerard’s arm catching him easily. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” Frank mumbles, falling to his knees next to Gerard. He is distracted by Gerard’s forearm against his side. 

“Liar,” Gerard laughs a bit, pulling Frank down to lie next to him, faces up to the humid air, the stars swirling around above them.

Frank turns, faces Gerard. “You’re not mad?”

Gerard shakes his head up to the heavens, “No, not really. You’re an adult, Frank.” Gerard’s eyes seek out Frank’s in the dim, “And you can make your own decisions.”

Frank waits for Gerard to turn back to the sky, to sigh out a peaceful noise before tucking his face into Gerard’s neck, tentatively licking a swipe along the tanned tendons there.

Jerking slightly in response, Gerard asks, “What are you doing, Frank?”

Muffled by skin and drink and heat and lust, Frank’s voice was thick. “Making my own decisions.”

Gerard pauses for a second, before threading his arm across Frank’s hip, pulling him closer. “About goddamn time, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! <3


End file.
